She bestowed a valedictory pat on Julia’s shoulder, and went away without giving her time to consider the implication of this remark. She was met on the floor below by Lady Oversley, who looked an anxious question. She replied to it with a nod, and a smile. ‘I didn’t say anything about her coming to dine with us, but she’ll drive out with me tomorrow, never fear! I’ll ask her then.’
Lady Oversley embraced her, shedding a few tears of relief. ‘Oh, my dear Jenny, I am so very much obliged to you! Was she – was she still in such distress?’
‘That’s more than I can tell, ma’am,’ replied Jenny, in her blunt way. ‘There’s no saying – at least, I can’t say, because we’re no more alike than a dock and a daisy, and I don’t understand her, and never did. She thinks she is, and it has always seemed to me that she’s one of those who’d die of the influenza only because she took it into her head it was smallpox!’
This was rather beyond Lady Oversley, but when she presently recounted it to her lord he looked a good deal struck, and said that Jenny was shrewder than he had supposed. ‘That daughter of yours, my dear,’ he said, ‘lives always in alt, and now we see what comes of it!’
She was accustomed to his very unfair habit of disclaiming responsibility for the existence of any of his children who had vexed him, so she let this pass, agreeing that Julia was too imaginative.
‘Ay, she takes after you,’ said his lordship inexcusably.
Julia remained in her bedchamber all day, but she appeared at the breakfast-table on the following morning. She looked pale, and was obviously in depressed spirits; and when her father, forcibly admonished by Lady Oversley, greeted her with great heartiness, she responded with a wince, and the travesty of a smile. But by a lucky chance a new walking-dress of French cambric, trimmed with frills of broad-lace, was sent home that day, and it was so pretty, particularly when worn with one of the new Oldenburg hats, that Julia was insensibly cheered. It had seemed at one moment as if she meant to refuse to drive with Jenny; but when she had been persuaded to put on the new dress, and her mama, her maid, her two younger sisters, and their governess had all fallen into raptures she changed her mind, and went out perfectly readily when the Lynton barouche drew up before the door.
Jenny, herself expensively but not very becomingly attired in Brunswick gray lustring, admired the dress too, and so, when they reached the Park, did a number of other persons. If the carriage was not mobbed, at least the coachman had to pull up his horses a great many times. It was the hour of the fashionable promenade, and the Park thronged with vehicles, from ladies’ barouches to the Corinthians’ curricles; with horsemen, mounted on high-bred hacks; and with exquisites, strolling along the path beside the roadway. It seemed to Jenny that every second person bowed or waved to her lovely companion; and since Julia wished to exchange greetings with her friends, and a large number of gentlemen were eager to pay homage to her, Jenny resigned herself to a dawdling progress. She had the satisfaction of receiving several civil acknowledgements herself, but she privately considered this promenade a waste of time, and was rather bored. It was otherwise with Julia, always responsive to atmosphere, and reviving like a thirsty plant under a shower of compliments and gallantries. The colour returned to her cheeks, the sparkle to her eyes, and her pretty laugh was so spontaneous that no one could have supposed her to be nursing a broken heart.
Not all her admirers were youthful. The Marquis of Rockhill, riding with Brough beside him, stayed for longer than any beside the barouche. He was very civil to Jenny, but she saw the warm glint in his eyes when he looked at Julia, and was not deceived into thinking that he had stopped for any other purpose than to talk to her. She thought him an elderly flirt for Julia, but she guessed him to be a notable conquest, and realized that his caressing manner was attractive to Julia. It was plain that he had a tendre for her, but he did not try to monopolize her. When Brough claimed her attention he at once began to talk to Jenny, and did not let his eyes stray towards Julia while doing so, which she thought unusually polite. He was apparently well-acquainted with the Deveril family; and when Jenny disclosed that her mother-in-law would be in Grosvenor Street during the following week he said that he must call to pay his respects to her. ‘Such a very old friend – almost a cradle-friend, one might say!’
On an impulse, she said abruptly: ‘Would you care to dine with us?’ She saw his brows lift in surprise, and explained: ‘You see, she means to stay only two nights, so I fancy she won’t have time for morning visitors. I mean to invite the Oversleys to dine, and to bring Miss Oversley as well, and it would – we should be very happy if you liked to come, and not care for its being an informal party.’
Under their heavy lids his penetrating eyes looked down into hers. A smile crept into them; he said softly: ‘But I shall be delighted to come, Lady Lynton! An excellent scheme! Parties composed of such intimate friends as the Deverils and the Oversleys are always better for a little leaven, are they not?’ The smile deepened in his eyes as he saw the wary look in hers, but he said no more, only bowing and then turning away to tell Brough that they must not detain the carriage longer.
In another minute the gentlemen had ridden on, and Jenny, as a sudden apprehension smote her, demanded: ‘He is a bachelor, isn’t he?’
‘Yes, of course. He’s a cousin of Rockhill’s, you know. Lady Adversane is Rockhill’s –’
‘No, no, not Brough! Rockhill!’
‘Oh! No, not a bachelor. He –’
‘Oh, my goodness!’ exclaimed Jenny, dismayed. ‘I invited him to dine with us next week! Whatever must he think of me? As though I didn’t know better! Oh, dear!’
‘Stupid!’ Julia said, laughing. ‘He’s a widower!’
‘Thank heaven!’ said Jenny devoutly.
Julia glanced curiously at her. ‘What made you invite him? I didn’t know you were acquainted with him.’
‘I’m not – well, barely, at all events! He said he hoped to see Lady Lynton when she comes to town, so I asked him to dine. I told him it was to be quite informal. Your papa and mama are coming, and you too, I hope, for Lydia will be there, you know.’
‘I?’ gasped Julia. ‘Oh, no! You cannot ask that of me!’
Casting a warning glance at the back of the coachman, Jenny said: ‘Well, I own it won’t be a very lively party, but I mean to invite Brough as well, so I trust it won’t be such a dead bore as you think! I wish I knew some more gentlemen! But Adam’s friends are all in France, so there’s only Cousin Osbert, unless – Would your brother come, do you think?’
‘Jenny, I won’t, I won’t!’ said Julia, under her breath.
‘Well, if that’s so Lord Rockhill will think it a regular take-in, for I told him you’d be there, which was why he accepted.’
Except for reiterating that she would not come, Julia said no more, but lapsed into pensive dejection.
At home she was not so forbearing. The only effect Lady Oversley’s entreaties had upon her was to cast her into agitation; and a fit of hysterics might have been the outcome had not her father come into the room, demanding to know what the devil was the matter now. Upon being told, he favoured his wife and daughter with a very tolerable impersonation of a Roman parent, announcing with such unusual sternness that Julia would obey him that she positively quailed, and ventured on no more contumacious a response than an imploring: ‘Oh, Papa, pray don’t make me go!’
‘Not another word!’ commanded his lordship. ‘I am very much displeased with you, Julia, and if you try my patience any further you will be sorry for it!’
At these terrible words both ladies dissolved into tears. His lordship, finding his rôle rather beyond his power to maintain, beat a dignified retreat, frowning heavily enough to lend colour to Lady Oversley’s statement that Papa was very, very angry. The thought that she, who had always been Papa’s pet, was now in his black books proved to be too much for Julia’s fortitude. She settled down to cry in good earnest, and so despairingly that Papa had to be recalled to s
oothe her with assurances of his continued regard. As soon as she knew herself to be still loved she grew calmer, and when he said that he sympathized with her much more than she guessed she was so passionately grateful that she was ready to promise to do anything he wished.
When the news of the projected dinner-party was broken to Adam he was almost as much dismayed, but concealed it better. Jenny, at work on the first of a set of chair-covers, asked him placidly if he thought she might invite Mr Oversley, and he replied, in an indifferent voice: ‘You may do so, of course, but I should doubt whether he’ll come. If I know Charlie, he’ll think it by far too slow!’
He was right, but Mr Oversley did grace the party with his reluctant presence, because his father, using none of the diplomacy he found necessary when dealing with his daughter, told him that he must.
‘What, drive Tab to the Lyntons? No, dash it, sir – !’ protested Mr Oversley, revolted by the thought of this family expedition.
‘Nonsense! If Jenny wants you she shall have you! I daresay she needs you to make up her numbers.’
Mr Oversley, who had been upon the strut for over a year, directed a look of pained reproach at his parent, and said: ‘Much obliged to her!’
Lord Oversley laughed, but told him not to be a coxcomb. ‘The thing is, Charlie, she has hit on this way of bringing your sister about, after that shocking business at Nassington House, and mighty good-natured of her it is!’
‘Here, I say!’ exclaimed Mr Oversley, alarmed. ‘Julia ain’t going off into a faint, is she? Because if there’s to be any of that kind of bobbery –’
‘No, no, she has promised to behave just as she ought!’ said his father reassuringly.
Twelve
The dowager, attended by her daughter and her dresser, reached London in excellent time on the day appointed, for she came post, her previous journey having helped her to overcome her dread of strange postilions. Mr Chawleigh would heartily have approved of the cavalcade which set out from Fontley, for two of the grooms rode with the chaise, and it was followed by a coach carrying my lady’s footman and a number of trunks and portmanteaux, and also by a fourgon loaded with such movables as the Dowager considered her own and had removed from Fontley.
She arrived in a wilting condition, but Jenny was on the watch, and as soon as she saw the chaise she called to Adam to go down immediately to welcome his mother. He reached the street in time to support her as she totteringly descended on to the flagway. She was gratified by this attention, and uttered: ‘Dear one!’ as he kissed first her hand and then her cheek. She then, and in less fond accents, said: ‘Lydia dear!’ as that damsel ruthlessly hugged Adam.
Adam led her into the house, where the first object to attract her apprehensive gaze was the Egyptian lamp at the foot of the staircase. She drew in her breath sharply. ‘Good heavens! Ah, yes, I see! A female form, with sphinxes. Dear me!’
‘It is a lamp, Mama,’ said Adam defensively.
‘Is it, dearest? No doubt Jenny found the stair ill-lit. I was never conscious of it myself, but – And are those strange alabaster bowls lamps too?’
‘Yes, Mama, they are! And here is Jenny, coming to welcome you!’
He was relieved to see that Jenny was more successful than he had been in dealing with his mother. She greeted her with proper solicitude, and said that it was no wonder she should be feeling done-up.
‘I am afraid I am a sad, troublesome guest,’ sighed the Dowager. ‘I am so much pulled by all I have gone through that I am fit for nothing but my bed.’
‘Well, then,’ said Jenny, ‘you shall come up directly, ma’am, and get between sheets, and have your dinner sent to you on a tray.’
‘So kind!’ murmured the Dowager. ‘Just a bowl of soup, perhaps!’
Lydia, who had been listening in strong indignation to these melancholy plans, exclaimed: ‘Mama, you can’t go to bed the instant you set foot inside the house! Why, you said yourself, when Mrs Mitcham came to Fontley, that nothing was more odious than a visitor who arrived only to be ill, and was for ever wanting glasses of hot water, or thin gruel!’
‘Oh, fiddle!’ said Jenny. ‘It’s to be hoped your mama don’t think herself a visitor in her son’s house! She shall do whatever she chooses. Do you come upstairs, ma’am, and be comfortable!’
The Dowager mellowed. She had had the amiable intention of frustrating any festive scheme which might have been devised for her entertainment by retiring to her bedroom in a state of exhaustion; but as soon as she was entreated to do exactly what she liked she began to think that if she rested for an hour she might feel sufficiently restored to join her family at the dinner-table. She allowed Jenny to escort her upstairs; and although it naturally caused her a pang not to be going to her ‘own’ room, she found that such careful provisions for her comfort had been made in the handsomely furnished apartment allotted to her that her melancholy abated. By the time she had been settled on a cushioned day-bed, and had been revived with tea and toast, she was wonderfully in charity with Jenny, and told her that rather than disappoint her dear ones she would make an effort to overcome her fatigue sufficiently to come downstairs in time for dinner.
Meanwhile, Lydia, having peeped into the dining-room, and exclaimed, in awed accents: ‘Goodness, how rich!’ had gone up to the drawing-room with her brother. She paused on the threshold, and stood at gaze, not saying anything for a full minute. Then she looked doubtfully at Adam. His eyes twinkled. ‘Well?’
‘May I say what I think, or – or not?’
‘You may, but you needn’t. I know what you think.’
‘It’s the stripes!’ she said. ‘It wouldn’t be nearly as bad if you took them away – though I must own I don’t like that very peculiar sofa much. Those horrid little legs look like some sort of an animal.’
‘Reptile. They are crocodile-legs.’
‘Crocodile?’ Lydia inspected them more closely, and went into a peal of laughter. ‘Yes, they are! I thought you were trying to hoax me. But why? Oh, yes, I see! It’s the Egyptian mode, isn’t it? I know it’s all the crack, but I don’t think it’s very comfortable, do you?’
‘I think it’s detestable,’ he answered, laughing too. ‘Wait until you see Jenny’s preposterous bed! She didn’t choose this stuff, you know: it was her father.’
‘Poor Mr Chawleigh! I expect he thinks it’s the very first style of elegance. Mama won’t, you know. Besides, she doesn’t like Mr Chawleigh. I do, even if he is a funny one!’ She heaved a sigh. ‘Oh, Adam, I wish Mama hadn’t settled on Bath! If she had decided on a house in London I could have borne it better, for I should have had you to talk to when I felt quite desperate, which, I’m sorry to say, I frequently do.’
‘Has she been very trying?’ he asked sympathetically.
‘Yes. And I find that I cannot be a comfort to her. Am I very unnatural, Adam?’ He shook his head, smiling. ‘Well, Mama says I am, and sometimes I fear I may be, because I am growing to dislike Charlotte as much as I dislike Maria! Would you have believed it possible that I could? Charlotte!’
He laughed. ‘Poor Charlotte! But you don’t really, you know.’
She eyed him somewhat ominously. ‘No! But I shall if you are going to call her poor Charlotte too!’
‘I take it back!’ he said hastily. ‘I never said it!’ Her dimples quivered into being, but she said gloomily: ‘It’s such humbug! Mama talks about her as if she were dead – except that she hasn’t yet called her her sainted Charlotte. And how she can do so, when she knows Charlotte is as happy as a grig – ! We have had a letter from her, you know, sent from York, where they were staying for a few days.’
‘No, I didn’t know, but I’m delighted to hear that she’s so happy.’
‘Adam,’ disclosed Lydia, in an awed voice, ‘she says that Lambert partakes of all her ideas and sentiments!’
‘Good God! I mean, how – how fortunate!’
‘They shared solemn and elevating thoughts in the Cathedral.’
‘N
o, they didn’t,’ replied Adam instantly. ‘Charlotte had solemn and elevating thoughts, and Lambert said: “Ay, very true! By Jove, yes!” Lydia, you wretch, you are making me as bad as you are yourself! Be quiet!’
She chuckled, but had to wink away a tear. ‘Oh, if only Maria hadn’t died! Then I shouldn’t have been obliged to be a comfort to Mama, or have gone to Bath, even!’
He gave her a hug. ‘I wish you needn’t have gone, but I think you must, at any rate for a time. Try to bear it! If Mama doesn’t bring you to London herself next spring, would you like to come to us, and let Jenny present you?’
The hug was returned with interest; Lydia cried rapturously: ‘Yes, of all things! Aunt Nassington spoke of bringing me out, but I would far prefer to be with you. If Jenny would be agreeable?’
As Jenny, who came into the room at that moment, said at once that nothing would afford her greater pleasure, Lydia’s spirits bounded up, and she said, in a burst of confidence, that she hoped Mama would decide to remain in Bath during the spring.
‘Outrageous brat! Take her away, Jenny! By the bye, don’t neglect to show her your bathroom! She’ll like it!’
Lydia, in fact, was entranced by it, and scandalized Martha Pinhoe by declaring her determination to use it. ‘You don’t mean to tell me you don’t, Jenny? Why, it is a beautiful bath! All these mirrors too! You may see yourself whichever way you look while you’re in the bath.’
‘Well, that wouldn’t be my notion of a high treat!’ remarked Jenny. ‘However, you’re welcome to use it if you choose.’
‘No, that she is not, my lady!’ declared Miss Pinhoe. ‘I’m surprised at you, saying such a thing! We all know what kind of creatures they are that sit in their baths with looking-glasses all round! The idea!’
It was evident that Lydia was exempt from this universal knowledge; and as it was also evident that she was going to demand enlightenment of Miss Pinhoe, Jenny hurriedly took her away to her own room. Lydia approved of this too, exclaiming: ‘Why, it’s all new, except for that chest, and the little chair by the window! I must say, it’s a great improvement: it was dreadfully shabby before!’